


NYE FYE, baby!

by dramady, edonyx



Series: Smile Pretty for the Devil [5]
Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-02
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:09:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramady/pseuds/dramady, https://archiveofourown.org/users/edonyx/pseuds/edonyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another kiss is shared with the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	NYE FYE, baby!

"What time is it, anyway?" Adam asks as he tosses his jacket over the end of the sofa. Thank God for car services because there was _no way_ he will be driving. Nope. Not when there are shots and champagne (and hoo is he going to paying for _that_ in the next twelve hours). Plus LP had been goading them on, which wouldn't normally have made any difference to Adam, but even Lisa was drinking. So. He might have told her he liked her boobs just a second ago.

Whoops.

His head is spinning as he throws himself down on the sofa. "I'm really, _really_ drunk."

And Tommy, who's _hammered_, flops himself out across Adam's lap. "You want more shots? I can get more shots. I can _totally_ get more fuckin' shots. I'm surprised I can still _walk._" Which means he rolls off of Adam and onto the couch beside him, slouched down low so he can dig in his pocket for money. "What d'you want, babyboy? Champagne? Shots? A-ny-thing-you-want."

"If either of us drink anymore, something horrible is bound to happen." Of this, Adam is sure. So he slaps in the general direction of Tommy's rummaging hands. "Just ... sit. Here. With me. It's officially 2010. We have New Year's resolutions to break." When he does find Tommy's hand, he laces their fingers together. "I'm ... I drank _so much_."

"I resolve," Tommy starts grandly, "To not stay up all night and watch TV. And to tweet more. And!" And! "To not drink myself to stupidity." Which is already broken, _obviously._ "Do you want to kiss me? I bet you do." Right here in front of everyone, with cameras and party-goers, the band, _everyone._ "What d'you want from me?" He's not grinning outright, but Tommy makes a _great_ case for looking naughty.

"Don't quote my songs to me, it makes you look ... " What was it that Tommy had said that one day? Adam's booze-soaked brain cells don't let him connect the dots there. Though when he does swivel his head to look at Tommy, he gets caught in how _pretty_ Tommy is, even in smeared eyeliner and the drunk-flush. "What would you do if I did kiss you here? Would you freak out?"

"Don't know," Tommy answers, shuffling the bottoms of his platform creepers on the floor. "I think 'cheesy' is the word you're looking for, by the way." He licks his lips, looking at Adam's mouth. It's not like Adam's never kissed him in front of the _universe_ before, right? And when Adam looks at him like that, all of Tommy's own booze-soaked brain cells turn off, entirely. "I think you should try." The color in his face deepens just a shade, and he adds, "Please."

He can see Adam's tongue move cross his lower lip as Adam leans in, hand finding its way to Tommy's cheek. His eyes even flutter closed and ...

That would explain why he misses Tommy's mouth. Adam ends up giving Tommy's cheek and the very corner of his mouth a very wet kiss.

"You're _licking_ me!" Tommy shoves at Adam until he realizes that maybe if he turns his head, their mouths will meet. So it's not exactly Adam that kisses Tommy, but Tommy that makes Adam kiss him, a hand flat on Adam's chest and the other limp by his side, on the couch. And just like that, when the kiss is as centered as it's going to get, Adam can feel the way Tommy's posture goes lax. Wanting and waiting. And let's not forget, smashed.

Both of them are smashed, remember. And when the kiss gets on track, it's hard to stop it. The rule of inertia, remember? What's in motion stays in motion. That and kissing Tommy is _addictive_ and sweet and it's really easy to open his mouth, urging Tommy's mouth open, tongue licking in. It's pornographic, what can he say? It's a skill.

So it takes a few long seconds for the catcalls and other noises, even the repetition of their names to sink in.

Tommy falls back, looking stunned and a little brainless, and he blinks at Adam before turning toward where he hears their names. Oh. _Oh._ There are _people_, and they're watching them. It makes Tommy's guts lock up before they turn to ice, and he's the one that _asked_ for it. The reality is obviously different than what goes on on the inside of Tommy's skull. In his head, he'd pictured Adam shoving him back onto the couch, climbing on, and doing what he wanted, fuck the rest of the world, right? "Did you notice pictures?" he whispers to Adam. "I can't believe I did that. I'm real fuckin' sorry."

"Um." Adam is blinking owlishly at the people who seem to be staring back him. "Happy New Year?" And he shrugs, _what can ya do?_ Heh. _For your entertainment?_ He and Tommy's hands are still laced together too. Would you look at that?! So, with some effort, he gets to his feet, tugging Tommy along with him. "Night, everybody." And without saying anything else, he gets his jacket and thankfully, Lane has his bag and Tommy's guitar and someone's talking, but who knows who, and they're ushered into the back of the waiting car. "... well, I think we settled any rumors that might've been floating around."

"Really? Did I do it?" In the car, Tommy leans against Adam, head on his shoulder. Oh, seatbelts, that might not be a bad idea, right? But it keeps him from wanting to turn against Adam, silently asking for more of those hot kisses. "Where are we going now? I seriously need something to eat, like, McDonald's or pizza or something, right? Otherwise I'm probably going to barf on your bed, and then you'll _hate_ me." He turns bleary, smeary eyes up to Adam. "What're we gonna do about... that?" The kiss, the hand-holding. The publicness of it.

"Um." This is a very big discussion for two people who are so very drunk. But then Adam shrugs. "Screw it. I don't care. If they want to talk about us, they can talk about us. Fuck it!" Ha! With big gesture and everything! "Do you really want to drive through McDonald's? You know their meat isn't even all meat, right? Did you watch Supersize Me? You'd never eat it again if you did. Seriously gross."

"I've seen it and I do not give a _fuck._" Tommy leans forward to look _very seriously_ at Adam. "I'm craving that dressing shit they put in it? The Thousand Island dressing that's been left in the sun for like, three days?" Right now, he's glad Adam can be so blase about being seen like that, and Tommy reminds himself that he's the one who started it. He's the one who'd said those dangerous words. _Do you want to kiss me? I bet you do._ He pokes the driver's shoulder and tries to make a convincing, blurry argument for going to McDonald's. "I'm _telling_ you. Big Mac on top of a shitload of booze? Sobriety. Or at least saving yourself the pain of puking in the morning."

"Just find a drive-through," Adam tells whoever's driving. He leans back against the seat and closes his eyes. Bad idea. He opens them again and looks at the ceiling instead. "... you're not freaking out?" he asked Tommy. "Is it because you're drunk?"

After a moment of contemplation, Tommy answers, "...yes." Because if he thinks about it too much right now, he'll probably toss his shots, and that's a) a waste of booze and b) _not_ his car. "I'm super fuckin' sorry. I'm gonna put that out there right now. 'cause I'm trying to, like." He scratches the side of his neck, looking out the window for the nearest Golden Arches. "I'm trying to do what you tell me to do." Not that Tommy's a fuckin' automaton, but being with Adam has been, what, a month? Barely? And not even as... as _boyfriends._

"... I didn't tell you to let me kiss you," Adam feels compelled to point out. "I ... didn't tell you that." For the record. "Am I supposed to be telling you what to do? I didn't know that. I should," Adam says with a grin blooming over his face. "Tell you to suck me off in the car."

"No, _no._" Tommy turns wide eyes on Adam, holding up both of his hands. "No, that's totally not what I meant. I _asked._ And you did it. And I thought I was going to like, bust the seam of my pants there for a second. And then..." The spell broke. People got involved and this thing that Tommy wants to keep private is now a whole lot less than that. And then... Adam _does_ tell Tommy to do something, and it kills any sort of coherent thought that's pickling itself in his liver. "Are the windows tinted?"

"Yeah. It's a car service," Adam answers, because that's obvious, right? Right. Anyway. Woah. They both lean to the side when the car turns into what must be the drive-through. Whoop! There goes the window, down. Adam leans back, gesturing to Tommy. "Order."

Tommy climbs over Adam's lap so he can talk out the window, almost like Adam's put him over his knee. Whatever, right? It's all about the Big Mac. "Hi! I will totally have two Big Macs - you want something, Adam? - big fries, big Coke." Then he slithers back into his spot and grins at Adam, drunk and crooked and bright. "You seriously want-? In the car? What about the driver?" Is he whispering? He should be. He's probably not. "Am I talking super loud? What if you make loud noises?" Because having his face licked open in front of everyone and then sporting giant wood, after? Isn't a big deal in comparison. Really.

Adam's hand covers his mouth and Adam just cackles at him. "You're hilarious! Oh my God, shut _up!_ One more big fries please. That's it."

There's a stunned silence before they're given a total and Adam still doesn't take his hand off Tommy's mouth. "You are not seriously going to eat two Big Macs. That's ... just not right."

"Mff-mff." Adam can feel Tommy's smirk against his palm, but Tommy makes no effort to move Adam's hand. What the translation of that really is, is _watch me._ He might be little, but that means shit when it comes to his appetite. After getting their food - Tommy has to pull away to pay for it, and he _insists_ on it, smacking at Adam's hands the same way Adam had smacked at his, at the party - he leans over to whisper against Adam's ear, "Do you really want me to blow you?"

"I better have you do that before you eat that so if you die, I don't miss out!" Adam laughs. "I mean, really. That's insane." Of course, he pulls his carton of fries out, pulling three out and chewing on them as if they are manna from heaven. Sure, these fries never die, but they taste _so good_. He slumps low in the seat to eat them.

What were they talking about?

Not sure. But there are burgers! And fries! And a Coke that's almost the size of Tommy's head! One Big Mac is put away in short order, and halfway through the second one, Tommy leans back against the seat, a hand over his stomach. "Done." Which means fries are next, and even though he went through a burger and a half, the fries that never die are demolished, along with most of the Coke. "And now I'm totally less than destroyed. See? Good shit. It's how I keep my girlish figure." Tommy pulls what _he_ thinks is a sexy pose, but it's sort of loose-limbed and comedic.

And adorable. Don't forget that. Adam needs to stop laughing or he's going to have stomach cramps. But he totally had no clue when he hired Tommy that Tommy was so _funny!_ Good grief. For someone who never smiles, he's hilarious. So much so that Adam has to grab his chin and kiss him.

Which is kind of gross, since they've both got fries on their mouths at the time. Ick.

Adam pulls away, nose wrinkled. "Ew."

That makes Tommy laugh, and he sucks back the remainder of his Coke to clean out his mouth. After belching against the inside of his elbow, he sits back with a sigh. "There, now I got Coke breath. Not real big on second-hand fries, though." He drops a leg across Adam's lap, running his fingers through his hair to push it away from his face. "We're going to your place?" He hopes so, because his own place has been pretty much untouched for the last couple of weeks, and hi, ew. That's why he's ordering Big Mac's instead of cooking something for himself. Ugh, Big Mac burps are _sick._ Adam looks _way_ better than any old fast food burger that's not even real meat.

"Yeah." Of course. Head swiveling on his neck, Adam looks over at Tommy, hands resting on his legs. "I have no idea why I find you attractive when you make sounds like that." But his smile is bright and teasing. If he reaches forward just a little bit, he can card his fingers through Tommy's hair, letting his fingers trail down his cheek. "Our first New Year's together."

Together. Tommy's one-and-a-half Big Mac's turn into a ball of cement, but he finds a smile for Adam. "Yeah. Our first New Year's. And don't tell me you've never let out a giant ripper before, you fuckin' liar. Just 'cause you're gay doesn't mean you're gasless." And just as much as the word 'together' scares Tommy, the idea of not being around Adam is _way_ worse, and he lifts his head a little into Adam's touch. "Are you gonna make me drink champagne out of your bellybutton, or something?"

"Um, ew? NO." But that makes Adam laugh _again_ and he taps on Tommy's nose. "Belly buttons are gross. Plus I think we've drunken - shit - _drank_ way more than we should've. Way more. Are we nearly home?"

The driver tells them they're about fifteen minutes away still.

"Home seems so _far away_." Adam deflates into the seat. "Ugh."

"Drunken." Tommy hides his laugh by ducking his head down again, and the tap on the end of his nose kind of does something really weird to him. It makes him keep his head down, almost in deference to what could really be... What could be Tommy being really drunk and reading things the wrong way. He's done it before, remember? After the party where that Cassidy guy had made pot brownies and Tommy had-

_Suck. Make them wet for you. Fuck yourself on me._

Well, that clears up any issue that Tommy might have had about having drunk-dick. "What can we do in fifteen minutes?" It comes out all low and husky, an offer that's completely open.

What's that? Adam looks over at Tommy a bit more attentively through the haze of his drunkenness. "I don't think we can solve world hunger," he tells Tommy. "Or the New York Times crossword." Ha! But he tilts Tommy's chin up to look at him eye to eye. "We can totally make out, though. C'mere." Onto his lap. _Pat-pat_. Right there.

"'kay." What else did Adam say? Something about eating the Times crossword? It doesn't matter; Tommy climbs onto Adam's lap, straddling him, and it's there he stays, head bowed forward, elbows pressed against the back of the seat, lips just a breath away. He wants Adam to take it.

Rawr. Adam skates his hands up Tommy's arms, over his shoulders, along the cord of his neck until he can cup Tommy's jaw (ugh, his jawline is to die for). Then all Adam has to do is tip his chin up and there's Tommy's mouth. No missed mouths this time! Nope, this is a bull's eye. And God, when their mouths fit together, it's kind of insane how well it works. How all Adam needs to do is trace his tongue along the seam of Tommy's mouth to get him to open, so he can lick inside.

With his elbows still in the seat, Tommy's hands come in to bury themselves in Adam's hair, and his toes curl downward against the insides of his boots as his body moves, too, sliding up so they're touching as much as they can. Yeah, what? An hour ago, he'd been kissing Adam in front of everyone, _hammered_, half an hour ago he'd been freaking out with the idea of being boyfriends, of this thing being real for everyone to see. Oh yeah, and Big Mac's. Definitely Big Mac's. And now he's pliant against Adam, taking what's given to him and returning it as best he can.

Somehow, Tommy's shirt gets pulled out of his pants and Adam's hands end up bracketing Tommy's waist, where his skin is soft over twitching muscle or solid bone. When the kiss deepens, Adam's fingers dig into Tommy's back, his hips pushing up. Oof. "Your mouth is amazing," he murmurs between presses of their mouths. "Your fucking _mouth_."

The words are there even before Tommy realizes his brain gave the go-ahead to speak. "You wanna fuck my mouth? Is that what you're saying?" Adam's hips come up, Tommy's come down, and he sucks a sharp breath before colliding lips with Adam, all car-crash-love whatever it is that AFI just released. It's _so good_, the album _and_ the kiss, and a hand falls from Adam's hair to the side of his neck.

That wasn't what Adam said, in case anyone's keeping track. But once Tommy _says_ that, of course that's what Adam wants. But it's also what they get to do most frequently. Have blow-job, will travel. No, they're heading back to Adam's bed and they can sprawl out so he wants _more_ than that. He wants it _all_. His dull nails scrape down Tommy's back as he whispers, "I wanna fuck you into the bed."

Tommy makes a sound that's half of a curse and half _yes_, and his back arches under Adam's fingernails. It isn't a push of his hips this time; it's a _grind_ that makes him groan into Adam's mouth and makes his fingers curl into a fist in Adam's hair. Adam makes Tommy _easy_, hot, and his cock feels impossibly hard against the inside of his pants, aching. "Yeah."

Somehow, they're dropped off at Adam's house and you can tell where they go by the trail of clothes from the foyer, up the stairs and to the bedroom. By the time Adam pushes Tommy onto the bed, they're both naked save Tommy have one sock still on (socks are the devil). Adam climbs over him, pinning his wrists to the bed as he kisses him, teeth digging into his lip, hips rocking.

That socked foot hooks up behind Adam's knee, body arching up under Adam's grip. Tommy groans, faint and slurry, eyes closed and mouth open against Adam's kisses. God, he wants this _so bad_, and his fingers curl down on themselves in an effort not to tug away to grab greedily at Adam's skin.

There's lube _somewhere_. Somewhere close even. And Adam even manages to get to it without falling off the bed, thank God. And he's drunk enough that when he pushes his middle finger up inside of Tommy, Adam groans, hips flexing as well. "Gonna fuck you good, baby. Gonna make you feel so _good_, yeah."

"Happy New Year," Tommy breathes. "Happy fuckin' New Year." His other heel skids against the bed, arms corded with the effort not to pull. "Then do it." Is he ready? He feels really fucking ready, at least in his head. God only knows that he's had so much to drink that he can barely feel anything other than the heat twisted hard around his guts. It won't hurt. It won't.

"Gimme a minute," Adam tells him, twisting two fingers in. He's drunk, he's not _stupid_. His cock is big, remember? "Gotta get you ready for me." It gives him a chance, too, to slide his teeth down Tommy's neck and suck a nice, bright mark into the hollow of his throat. And another one. And _another_ one. Yeah. _Mine_.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Tommy whispers, agreeing to Adam's advice and asking him for more; a decision swept drunkenly from one side to the other. His knees fall apart as his kisses go breathy, and it's a good thing Adam scrapes his teeth down his throat because then he can _feel_ the sound Tommy makes, rough and low in his throat. He had agreed to what Adam had to say, _I want you to know that you're mine_, between hard words and _hard_ sex, and he hasn't gone back on it.

A few more presses of his fingers inside and Adam can pull them out, rub the rest of the lube on his cock and shift just a little and _push_. "Shiiiiit," he hisses, back arching as he slides in, inch at a time. "Yeah. Oh, fuck, yeah." More, a bit at a time, til he can feel his hips bump right up against Tommy's ass. "Yeah."

Tommy heaves out a sharp sound, hands free now to curl around the back of Adam's neck and his bicep, and his thighs come up to hug Adam's hips. He feels all jarred and loose, a combination of Adam, who's like a _drug_, and the disgusting amount of booze they put back tonight. "Oh yeah," he answers, head back against the pillow, feeling the way his body takes Adam and then _holds_ him, like he can't quite let go. "_God._"

There's a moment before Adam starts to move and when he does, it's with a liquidity that has nothing to do with booze. He groans into Tommy's ear, weight braced on his hands. "Uh-huh." When he closes his eyes this time, he's not dizzy, but he can _feel_ the way his cock moves in Tommy and it's _amazing_.

Adam _knows_ how to do this, and he's- it's-

Tommy turns his head to grab Adam's mouth with his, and lets himself be moved by Adam, feel the push and pull of their bodies. The word Adam had used: Together. He manages to unfist his fingers from Adam's arm to skim his hand down between them to stroke his cock, and Adam can feel the clench of muscle around him as much as in the strain of him under Adam. "Uhh-"

"Uh-huh." Pushing off with his toes, Adam gets to where he can rest on his knees and angle down _into_ Tommy and it's fierce and hot and makes him breathless. Harder, too, now, letting gravity do at least some of the work as he makes noises that he takes no responsibility for, mixed with words like "fuck," and "yeah," and "like that."

Like that, Tommy agrees, in nods and gasps and cries that get sharper and harder, legs hugging Adam's waist. "Can I come? Please, fuck, _please_\- I want to, I'm fuckin' close-" He jerks his hand away so the only friction he gets is from what comes between their bodies. Adam can feel how hard Tommy is, how hot, how the tip of his cock is wet. "_Adam._"

"Fuck!" That's part of the appeal of sex, see. To Adam, anyway. The visceralness of it. Some people don't like messy, or whatever, and he gets that, see, but it's more here. Seeing Tommy struggle for control, seeing and feeling how his body responds. All of that has Adam clenching his teeth and fucking in harder. "Come on, then," he urges. "Come on. Lemme feel you _come_."

It's as if the words themselves _yank_ it out of Tommy, and he growls out a rough sound, head ducked down and forehead against the side of Adam's neck as his body clenches up and lets go, coming in jerks that steal his breath and turn his brain to so much useless jello holding up the inside of his skull. _Come, come, lemme feel you come_. And now it doesn't feel like he'll stop, and Tommy wonders for half a second if this'll keep him from having a hangover tomorrow. But whoops! That thought's gone as bare nerves feel every inch of Adam as he keeps moving.

There's only room for a breath before Adam comes and it kind of feels like it blows the top of his head right off. That's a good thing. He throws his head back and ruts in, riding it through and somewhere in the middle there, he realizes he never put a condom on and his hips jerk back. But it feels so _good_, he can't stop. "Sorry," he gasps out. "Sorry. God. Sorry," even as he's still moving.

"Off, _off._" In a flash of a second, Tommy goes from fucked to the point of bliss, to screaming, _crushing_ panic. "Get _off_ me." He didn't even _realize_, not until he felt it, not until he heard Adam's apology. "I gotta- just." The sudden movement dizzies Tommy, and he scrabbles nearly off the edge of the bed, watching Adam. "You."

"I'm _sorry_." Nearly knocked off balance, Adam scrabbles, first, for something to hold onto, then with his other hand, for Tommy. "I'm sorry. I'm _clean_ and I never do that. Ever. I ... I'm _clean_." And he adds, belatedly. "Don't freak out."

But Tommy's backing up. "I just gotta clean up. I just. I'll. I'm gonna go to the bathroom." The mattress runs out and one of Tommy's feet hits the floor. The socked one, actually, and after that, his other foot lands, and there he goes, nearly scuttling toward the bathroom. "I'll just be right back." Plus, he's fairly certain that a Big Mac and a half, a box of fries, a huge Coke and _all_ the alcohol they polished off tonight are about to make a reappearance. "Just wait." Then he's gone from the room, the bathroom door slammed shut after him, giving him the privacy to figure out what the fuck just happened, and how. They _both_ know better.

There's nothing hear for a long time, at least from Adam's side of the door, though gradually, there are footfalls and he says, through the door, "... are you okay?"

"I'm not puking, so that's a good start." And the door isn't locked. "Ever yacked up a Big Mac? It just tastes like dressing, and it's disgusting." Tommy's voice is level, even if the words are still slurry, and Adam can hear running water. Whether it's Tommy trying to clean up or him drinking from the faucet (come on, _everyone_ does it, do _not_ look at him like that) isn't exactly clear, but after that, Tommy cracks the door open. "We shouldn't have done that."

Bracing himself on the doorway, Adam blinks at him. "No, I know. I ... I mean we were - are - really drunk. I ... but that's not an excuse." There's a chance that if he reaches through the door, Tommy will slam it on his fingers. Adam shudders just at the thought. "Um. I _am_ clean, though. Really."

"Can you grab my shorts?" Tommy's not sure where they even ended up after staggering through the doorway and upstairs. "I am, too. I mean, clean." He steps away from the door, so if Adam wants to come in, he can. Or he can get Tommy's shorts so he's not standing all naked like an idiot. "Aw fuck, I'm-" And then Adam can hear the spin of the toilet paper roll. God. Fuck.

Oops. Adam winces in sympathy as he looks around for a pair of teeny tiny boxers. Turns out they're by the door - not too far, thank God. He picks them up (not even nearly falling over either, go him!) and he brings them back, holding them out. "... sorry."

"Stop saying that," Tommy says tersely, taking the shorts and stumbling into them. "I freaked 'cause... I haven't since like, the second time I ever got laid. Then my mom found out and rubbers were on the grocery list." He can't look at Adam as he says this, leaning his hands on the edge of the sinktop, looking down into the sink below him. "I didn't- It's just." Then Tommy shakes his head. "Let's just go to bed, huh? Okay? I'm gonna have a pisser of a hangover." And he can't think about this right now. Please, don't make him.

"... okay." Adam lets Tommy past him so he can go into the bathroom then, washing himself off, his face and his crotch. And even though it's dark, when he comes back, his face is clean and he crawls into bed, settling under the covers before reaching for Tommy. "S - um. Are you all right?"

The silence is long and dark before Tommy answers in a question of his own. "You want the truth, or do you wanna hear what you wanna hear?" He's replaying everything after they'd crashed on the couch together at the party, and realizes just exactly what happened between then and now. Things slipped out of control for _both_ of them. "It's not your fault, okay?"

"You think I ask when I don't really want to know?" With a sigh, Adam rolls to his back, an arm thrown over his eyes. "It is my fault, because I fucked you, but we're both clean so it's ... okay, I guess. I don't even know." He'd drunk some water in the bathroom and can feel it sloshing around in his stomach, urgh. "Are you freaking out?"

"Yup. That was the fuckin' weirdest feeling I've ever had." Tommy turns toward Adam to look at him in the dark. "It was fuckin' awesome." The sex, he means, because someone else's come in him is going to be a weird thing that he needs to get used to. "I mean, until... that. That was _weird._ I'm sorry." Weird-weird-weird, Tommy's new favorite word. "I'm still your... you know. ...right?" He's still Adam's?

"You're still my what?" Adam lifts his arm to turn his head, fingers finding their way back into Tommy's hair. "Boyfriend? ... yeah, because of that more than ever, really." He shrugs again. "How I feel for you hasn't changed. I mean, if you want to go back to using rubbers after we didn't, that's fine ... I'm not sure I see the point of it, beyond that it weirded you out to have come in your ass."

They'd just give up being safe, just like that? "What if I get pregnant?" Tommy mutters, and maybe it feels kind of good to make a joke when his insides still feel like a mess of snakes. "I do kinda wanna go back. It's... it's a lot in a really short time frame." Then Tommy's face is buried in the pillow, hiding the way he feels all feverish and scared. He's a _dude_, and dudes don't get scared.

That gives him a chance, too, to miss the way Adam rolls his eyes, then closes them. "Fine. That way we don't have to worry about you having ass-babies." Ugh, he's not as drunk as he was and is now getting to that maudlin stage. Boo. None of it's that deep. Adam pulls the covers up to his chin and turns onto his side, away from Tommy. Maybe it's better to sleep.

"You gotta watch Tenacious D with me," Tommy says to the pillow, and when he lifts his head, it's with a frown. Okay, Adam wants to sleep like that. Tommy turns his back, too, leaving a space in the bed between them that's bracketed by bent legs and curved backs. "How I feel about you hasn't changed, either." Spoken to the dark as much as the invitation to watch The D had been to the pillow, and Tommy's eyes focus on nothing in particular. "I trust you."

"It doesn't seem like it sometimes."

But Adam stops himself before he says anymore. It's fucking New Year's Eve (day, whatever) and he needs to quit being pathetic. But when it's late and he's drunk-verging-on-hungover and his boyfriend keeps freaking out, well, he gets _tired_ and he feels sorry for himself. _Adam Lambert scares everybody!_ Ugh. Sighing, he reaches back, fingers brushing Tommy's hip. "Night."

Without even thinking about it, Tommy shifts into the touch. "Night." There's so much more he wants to say; he wants to tell Adam that he's _trying_, but being with a guy isn't something he's done. Or being _out_, when six months ago, he'd been straight. Or unprotected sex with _anyone_, let alone someone who came in _him._ It's not worth the words right now, but the words - _other_ words - that are right on the verge of being spoken... aren't. The words that are the biggest reason for Tommy being scared.


End file.
